Wordful Wednesday - Sayonara, sucker.

I hate to jinx this glorious situation, but I think it's finally safe to say that we've done away with the pacifier for good.

I told Dennis about all the talk of cutting part of the pacifier off with scissors (thanks again for all of your ideas and stories), and the moment we decided to dive in head first and DO THIS THING, he went to the kitchen and just flat out whacked that sucker in half. I was thinking more along the lines of a not-so-obvious cut in the end of it, but I didn't give him precise instructions, so...we just went with it.




She put it in her mouth, scrunched up her little eybrows, took it out and looked at us like, "Dude! WHAT the?!?"

This was followed by a series of putting it in, taking it out, putting it in, taking it out.

And then...oh, then all hell broke loose.

She utters this long string of thoughts, and we began to wonder if we pretty much made the biggest mistake ever...

"It's broke! What happened? Fix it! Daddy?!?! FIX it! What happened! Mommy? Kiss it!"

Because Daddy fixes things, and I kiss her owies. But, Daddy wasn't going to fix this, and no amount of kisses from me would make it all better.

BREAK. my. HEART!

Into a million little pieces.

I think it would be safe to say that Dennis and I were both fighting back tears.

You'd have thought we just told her the Wiggles were checked into rehab and wouldn't be released for 28 more days. She took it that hard.

The kid was devastated with a capital D. And her tears weren't part of a fit or a tantrum - it was pretty much just pure heartbreak.

You better believe we were questioning our decision. I'm freaking out thinking my child is going to end up in therapy someday because I gave her a broken pacifier. Please. Give me a break, right? But her big old alligator tears did that big of a number on me.

Once she calmed down later that night, she'd occasionally pick it up, put it in her mouth once, and then set it down and say, "It's broke." And that was that.

Getting her to bed was nothing short of a miracle, but she eventually went to sleep. And so did we.

And we all woke up the next morning and lived to tell the tale.

Since then, we've left some of the broken ones around the house and she just keeps telling us they're broken, but that's it. No tears. No sadness. As if it's no big thing.

The one significant change is that now, for breakfast each morning, she tells us matter-of-factly, "I need a cookie." Maybe she's dealing with it in her own special way like so many of us girls do. Cookies.

So, one really rough night, and a few days and at least an entire box of Thin Mints (we all remember the depths I'll go to for my Thin Mints, right?) later, we're no worse for the wear.

We've conquered one huge struggle, and now we just wait for the next one that's lurking it's ugly head around the corner, waiting to pounce on us.

But, I've got a box of Thin Mints hidden in the freezer, so we are good to go, people. Good to GO.

(This post is a part of Wordful Wednesdays, hosted by Angie at 7 Clown Circus.)